Preferences
by JennoftheGlenn
Summary: Within the realm of my 'John's Interludes for Three.' Jollock relationship, everyone doing everything. In which John, Molly and Sherlock think about the other two, comparing and contrasting, considering preferences, replaying insanely sexy times. Warning: Contains Sherlolly! and Johnlock, Jollock and Molljohn (Hoopson? Johnolly?)


_**Preferences**_

_One-shot_

_Established Jollock relationship firmly in the realm of __John's Interludes for Three_

_(But you don't have to read that to *enjoy* this)_

_(For those of you waiting: I'll finish soon, I swear it!)_

_In which each of the three think quietly to themselves about the other two._

_Comparing strengths and weaknesses_

_Preferences are considered_

_WARNINGS: Contains Sherlolly! Molljohn (Johnolly?), Johnlock & Jollock!_

**Molly**

John was safe and Sherlock was dangerous. _No, that's not it._

Molly's eyes were half shut, her upper teeth set into the flesh of her lower lip, her thoughts far away from the sample she was working on in the lab. Tricky. This test is kind of tricky. Too much heat and -.

_Damn._

She watched through the microscope as the molecular structure of her sample was irrevocably changed, ruined beyond usefulness by her own inattention. Or rather, her attention to things well outside the realm of the lab. She felt her palms – sweaty. She noted her breathing – short. He was right beside her, too, he would see it all. He would have seen her ruin the sample and berate her, albeit gently, but she hardly cared.

"That's the third sample you've ruined this afternoon, Molly." Sherlock sat at her side, watching her, his hands only referring to his own instruments at which he had just been working.

"The man's liver won't last forever, you know. And he's dead, after all. Really. Very sloppy, not at all like you. Shame on you." Sherlock gave a playful lilt to his last three words to soften the sound of them and waited for a response, but Molly didn't face him, she only smiled slightly when she spoke.

"Never mind." Molly's eyes were heavy and dark Sherlock didn't fail to note. "It's late. I'll start again tomorrow. Um, sorry about that. I'll finish the paper work instead."

"Hmm," Sherlock said doubtfully, narrowing his eyes. "Just try not to burn up the files, as well." Sherlock took the opportunity, with no one else around, to lift Molly's face to him, a finger under her chin.

"A million miles away? A thousand? Or only as far as the bedroom in Baker Street?"

"Yes. Baker Street." Molly met his gaze, then and he saw the fire burning inside her.

"I thought so. Thinking of us. How lovely." He ran his fingers down her throat, skimming her breast, and reached to her backside, gripping her tightly. He let her go, and moved away. "Mustn't get too – involved, sorry."

"You've just touched my breast and arse," Molly hissed, though she did it with a smile.

"Sorry, sorry – that was -. Forgive me? But Lestrade is giving me a ride to the - ."

"Ok, ready? Still need a lift to the Yard?" Lestrade burst through the lab door, and was striding over to where Molly and Sherlock had been working quietly side by side for the past two hours.

"Yes, that's - thank you, if you don't mind." Sherlock picked up the pad of paper he'd been working on and replaced it and his phone in his pocket. He made to leave with Lestrade, but turned his head as he went. "Thank you for your assistance, maybe tomorrow you won't burn up the evidence?" To anyone else, to Lestrade, the comment and the tone with which it had been delivered was a clear condemnation of sloppy work, an unequivocal pronouncement of incompetence. But to Molly, who saw Sherlock's face turned to her as he walked away, it was a teasing love bite. She watched as he walked from her, pursing his lips ever so slightly at her, a private kiss, then he winked and followed Lestrade out the door. Molly gathered the paperwork together, and brought it to one of the desks and sat down.

She had been letting her mind wander, comparing and contrasting, knowing full well how very, very inappropriate it was to do so. Especially in the lab. She let her mind continue to wander. Back to Baker Street. Back to Sherlock's bedroom, _their_ bedroom. Back to John's arms, to Sherlock's.

_John is safe and Sherlock is dangerous. No! That's not it._

John wasn't always safe. He took control in bed, quickly, and teased her mercilessly, brought her to the edge, and then made her suffer, holding back, making her beg. It made her delirious. The result was always well worth the wait. She'd come like a train, and then he'd hold her, pet her, and murmur gently to her. Sherlock could do this for her, as well, but it was different. Sherlock was playful at it, while John was – oh, god – _masterful. _But lately, there hadn't been as much of that sort of play with John, and she missed it. _They've been rather involved with one another, _ she thought, _and they still are. _She didn't begrudge it a bit. She loved watching these two formidable men evolve into the lovers she knew they could be. She loved watching Sherlock's continued patience and gentleness with her husband. Then there was all of John's hard work, always trying, working so hard to break down the barriers he knew were only in his head. He was tireless. _But that's another matter. John. Sherlock._

_And Sherlock's not always dangerous. _ There was nothing like the feeling of his body covering her almost completely just after he came. She loved it when he fucked her senseless and then collapsed on her without so much as a 'by your leave,' or 'all right?' The feeling of his weight on her was safety itself. Then there were the moments she found him watching her in their love making as she panicked near the edge of her climax, wondering if she could reach her finish. She saw his face before her in her mind's eye. He'd watch her, as plateau evolved into oncoming orgasm, intent upon her pleasure, ready to do whatever was needed, even forestall his own finish to help her to hers. Then there were the hug attacks she endured from him. Molly's mind returned to the images of a moment the three of them had been together when Sherlock had finished with John, bringing him to orgasm with his mouth and fingers. John was still howling his release when Sherlock jumped on Molly, he was inside her immediately, fucking her deeply, quickly bringing her close and then coming to his climax at the same time she did. She remembered that that time, and others like it had been at a moment when John was still not ready for Sherlock to take him fully, only allowing Sherlock's fingers inside him, his mouth on him. She knew Sherlock's lovemaking with her at those times was an expression of frustration, an expression of what he wanted to do with John, at length, but she couldn't care less, in fact she loved it. She got to have the full brunt of Sherlock's pent up energies and it was thrilling, _thrilling_ and she remembered wishing it could last forever. But now that Sherlock and John were enjoying themselves in all the ways that they might, Molly found that Sherlock was no less attentive and enthusiastic with her in bed. She felt his need of her and it wasn't only as a conduit to John, as she had often feared. She sensed Sherlock's reverence for their time together, the time before John came to London. She knew that she had been his first real and meaningful human connection, and she felt the depth of his gratitude for her. She knew his need of her, she felt it, and it was keen. Their bond was unbreakable, they both knew it, and it continued to evolve.

John was another matter.

_No, not so safe. Not so safe at all._

She felt confident it was a phase. He had lots of issues he was still sorting through and he was definitely not paying as much attention to her in bed as he had before. It was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Hardly noticeable. But though she noticed it, it didn't sting. Not yet, anyway. She was fairly sure Sherlock noticed it, too. And it wasn't at all that John ignored her in bed, not at all. It was only that he was concentrating on Sherlock, trying to be as open as possible, trying to stay psychologically pliant. She saw all his hard work, and didn't at all think that the two of them would leave town without her. _Oh, good lord, I would be ruined. Bart's roof wouldn't do the job properly. No, it would have to be Anna Karenina. No, no, too dramatic. Too messy. But it would communicate the __**feeling.**__ Oh, god, what am I thinking? What rubbish. _

No, there was nothing at all like the safety of John's arms around her. She closed her eyes and remembered their brief life before Sherlock joined them in their bed, in their lives. Even as she was hoping against hope for Sherlock's return for months, and months, she could see that life with John was going to be beautiful, fulfilling, simple and straight forward. No, there was nothing at all like John's slowness, his thoroughness. She adored even his predictability, knowing his next moves was a comfort and it endeared him to her deeply. Then there was his kindness, his patience, his acceptance, his certainty, his moral stalwartness. But Sherlock, too was deeply honest. His impatience with her and her games and secrets flattered her as he encouraged her to be herself, reveal herself to the two men more. Then there were Sherlock's own secrets – _so interesting!_ – of growing up, of his sexual life before joining John and Molly. But did she know everything of _John's_ life? Did he have secrets, too? _I need to talk to him, we need to go deeper. There's more there for us, I know it. I just know it._

No, there was no choosing - no choosing ever, _ever_. _Thank god I don't have to. _

**Sherlock**

Sherlock pocketed his phone and magnifying glass as he prepared to leave Lestrade and the piles of evidence in one of the examination rooms at the Yard.

"All right. All for now. I'll let you know what I – find."

"Nothing from the liver sample?"

"Probably, but the pathologist made several mistakes. We have to start again tomorrow."

"'Pathologist?' You mean _Molly?_" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, of course – just as you say – Molly. Why? What do you - ?"

"Nothing, I just would have thought you'd be on better terms than that – after she helped you with – you know, all that."

Sherlock recognized Lestrade's reference to his faked death, and appreciated his making it as nonchalant as possible. It had been a messy business for many people, and Lestrade had taken some heat for the matter.

"Really?" Sherlock continued his deflecting ruse. "Better terms than what, detective inspector?"

"Better terms than not calling her by name – I – Oh, never mind." Lestrade gave up. _The fucking git still doesn't know __**my**__ name, and I'm going to complain he doesn't know Molly's?_

Sherlock smiled to himself at his red herring, wondering if it had been effective or too obvious. He turned to look at Lestrade. No, it had worked, he'd bought the distraction.

"Well, must fly," Sherlock sing-songed. "I'll be in touch."

Sherlock swept out of the office and caught the elevator, empty, just as the doors were about to close. He pressed the button for the lobby and allowed himself a private smile as he rubbed his face with his hands. _Molly. Thinking about us. Burning samples at the thought of us. How romantic. Hmmhmm. So lovely, so wicked, so secretive, so naughty, so loving, so sexually free. And John. Lovely John. So forthright, so dependable, so – oh god. _Sherlock thought of his people constantly, now, even when he was on a case. He noticed when he did his thoughts would go back and forth from John to Molly, then back again in equal measure. _John and Molly, male and female, the whole world in my bed_, Sherlock thought, _the whole world. I get it all_. He found, too, that he was greedy for them, greedy to have them both in rapid succession. He would barely be finished with one of them when he'd leap to the other in bed, tasting, touching kissing. Molly's secrets, John's directness, Molly's sexual freedom, John's delightful shyness – His slow blossoming. Yes, John was definitely coming into his own lately. The kind of man Sherlock only ever dreamt of having when he – that is before he had – _oh god._ He could hardly believe that young man in his mind's eye was him – dressed in black, at the clubs, at university. The drugs. The revolving door of sexual partners.

The elevator doors opened and Sherlock pulled on his gloves, shaking off the quite recent bedroom memories that were forming in his mind. _Mustn't get too distracted from the case, for god's sake. _But there was nothing more to do, really, until the pathology tests came back tomorrow. There was no rush, though he would have preferred to have finished today. _Never mind. _He thought,_ worth it to see that expression in Molly's eyes in the light of day, even in the light of the lab. Passion. _Yes, he thought, Molly certainly was passionate. And Sherlock could tell John was too, _even about me_, yes of course he could tell – but -. Sometimes Sherlock wondered and rather often lately just how much John had been pushed into all this. He was quite certain that had he never returned from his 18 month absence, John would never have investigated feelings of sexual attraction to the same sex. John and Molly would have continued on, a very normal heterosexual couple without branching out into any kind of experimentation. Well – maybe Molly might have needed some kind of extra stimulation in a regular union. Maybe Molly - . _No, no. _he thought. _My involvement is the random bit. Their involvement with me has pushed this – thing – forward between me and John. Have I forced him? _

Sherlock had asked John pointedly several times if he thought he had been forced in any way into their physical relationship, and always denied it. Sherlock smiled, and remembered the first time he had ever put his mouth on John. He and Molly had asked John, 'are we forcing you?' And he had said 'no,' hadn't he? He could have left the bedroom, but he hadn't. Sherlock's breath hitched slightly at the memory, still fresh and still somewhat sacred for him. He adjusted himself surreptitiously before stepping into the brightly lit lobby and then strode haughtily out the door and hailed a cab.

"221 Baker Street," he told the cabbie and settled into his seat for the ride. He bit his lip as he anticipated arriving home soon, now only a cab ride away, but well ahead of Molly and John. He would be alone in the flat, but not for long. _John and Molly, Molly and John._ He closed his eyes and allowed the memories of recent evenings to resurface again. He reviewed the images, compared them. _They compliment one another so perfectly, so beautifully. Well, obviously. _ What one might lack, the other made up for generously. Molly's feral animalism, John's loving care and attention. Molly's anxiety and frustration, John's patience and mastery. _Male and female. The whole world_. He wondered for a moment if he would be interested in either of them without the other – Absurd, of course he would, he'd never leave either of them – if something – tragic - were to happen – to one of them. John? Molly? No, never.

"Mmm." He heard himself moan aloud, and quickly cleared his throat, thinking to cover it up. Images of the previous night flooded into his mind. _Sensational. Last night was sensational_. _No wonder Molly's burning up the samples, no wonder at all._ He allowed the images of the previous evening to form again as the cab sped through London's streets.

He'd come home rather late after some time at the Yard. He'd talked to some witnesses, then he got an update with some new information from Lestrade. He'd sent John home early while Sherlock himself tracked down some of his homeless network with specific instructions. When he finally got back to the flat, around nine or so in the evening, the sitting room was dim, but clearly visible were John and Molly, naked, in John's chair.

The light in the room was provided by about a dozen or so candles, burning here and there, on the mantel, a table a bookshelf. It changed the feeling of the room and immediately put Sherlock in mind of their first evening together, which had been lit only with candles. That was the evening that John and Molly had first approached him, asking him to join them in bed. The candlelight also added a sense of ritual, of ceremony to what was about to transpire between the three of them.. There were also some flowers, scenting the room delicately. _Molly_. He approached his people in the chair.

John and Molly were cooing to one another easily, gently, moving together, against one another. As he approached, Sherlock saw Molly recognize that he was in the room. She was sitting with her back to John, impaled on his cock, her legs spread wide, flung back over John's knees. Nothing, but nothing was left to the imagination. Her arms were stretched above her head, swanlike, balletic - then they descended, reaching back to John's head, his hair, his lips – she touched him gracefully. John's hands were on Molly's breasts, gently kneading them, while he held her weight steadily in his lap.

"Oh. Oh Molly, John." This was Sherlock's favorite thing to see them do and they knew it and he had to breathe deeply and steady himself at the sight of them. _What a lovely gift tonight,_ he thought.

He maintained eye contact with Molly as he shed his coat and gently approached them. Molly leaned her head back beckoning his touch, and he stepped between the couple's knees to lean down and kiss her neck. He was able to see John's features behind her in the dim light, his face pressed against the back of Molly's neck, concentrating on his movements, pulsing into Molly as he kept her balanced in his lap.

"You're so lovely." Sherlock murmured into Molly's ear, and John lifted his head to hear Sherlock's voice so close. "Mmm, yes, John, both of you, very lovely." Sherlock leaned down to brush his lips against John's face. John lifted his mouth to his friend's and they kissed unreservedly. Finally, Sherlock pulled away from the couple, but remained standing quite close, looking down at them, still standing between their knees. He began to slowly remove his clothes. He felt his people's eyes on him as he did so, both of them, Molly's eyes, burning his skin. John's eyes, as well.

Sherlock toed out of his shoes, and slipped out of his trousers and pants, his shirt soon following. He threw his clothes to the side and knelt on the pillow that someone had placed on the floor just between his people's knees, just in front of their joined and moving flesh. Reverently, hungrily, Sherlock placed his hands on Molly's thighs, as he looked at John's cock sliding gently in and out of Molly, shallowly, slowly.

"Oh, my loves," Sherlock whispered as he gently rubbed Molly's thighs. As he watched them he slid his fingers down to touch John's legs as well, his knees, the insides of his thighs, then traced his hands back up to Molly's legs, and hips. He only touched them gently as he watched them a good long while before he presumed to touch them with his mouth. He enjoyed the slight increase in his people's agitation as they waited for him, knowing that he would worship them with his lips and tongue.

_They are Shiva and Parvati, Kama and Rati_, he thought. It was a shrine that they created with their bodies, _his_ shrine and he was devout. Deeply, almost unendurably devout.

As if it were a religious rite, Sherlock bowed his head to the bodies before him, Molly's body, and placed a chaste kiss just above her navel. She smiled and arched her back, mewing, but refraining from using language. Sherlock devoured her breasts, then, licking and sucking with abandon, reaching to John to stroke the skin of his neck and shoulders. Fingers found John's mouth, and John nipped at them, and sucked them with the slow thoroughness of ceremony.

The couple's pulsing union continued languidly as Sherlock placed another kiss directly upon Molly's navel, then offered her his tongue, pressing it against her little indentation, making circles against it. She continued to move slowly, but her mewing and cooing became louder. She placed her hands on Sherlock's head, lacing her fingers into his curls, letting go again, as Sherlock leaned back. He watched his people for another few moments. The arch of Molly's back, John's face appearing briefly at her shoulder as he continued to pulse into his wife. John continued to battle against becoming too excited too soon. Sherlock smiled and deeply breathed in the scent of their bodies, the flowers, the candles. He took in the sounds, their little love noises. John opened his eyes to see Sherlock looking at them, and flashed him his warm open smile, then gently bit Molly's shoulder, who gave a brief squeak of delight at the attention.

Sherlock bowed his head again, and kissed Molly just below the navel now, licking her there, raking his teeth into her skin a bit and her movements became a little more quickened. Finally, Sherlock sat back on his heels and presumed to bring his face close to the union they made with their bodies, listening intently to the sound their movement made, the wet sound of flesh on flesh. He couldn't hold back any further, and pressed his lips, lightly, so lightly to John's cock, even as John pulsed into Molly's body, against her wet outer lips. He pursed his lips in a kiss.

"Ah, Sherlock, love," John murmured gently with some relief, registering Sherlock's kisses with gratitude. Sherlock smiled at John's words, knowing that while John felt the sense of ritual among the three of them, it might not be as deep or sacred for him as it was for Molly and Sherlock. But Sherlock didn't at all mind, it ruined nothing, only endeared John to him more deeply.

Sherlock pressed his lips to Molly's body where it met John's moving cock. He held his mouth still, feeling the stillness, the passivity of Molly's body against the dynamism, the movement of John's. _Vishnu and Lakshmi_. He flicked his tongue out and was rewarded with little gasps of delight from his people. He licked out at them again then pressed his tongue against John's cock, as it pulsed into Molly, pressing his tongue along with it, entering Molly, too. Then he flattened his tongue and took long lazy licks at John's cock and Molly's outer folds, taking his time, wetting them thoroughly with his mouth. His people's love noises became louder and less reserved, as he continued his attention and Molly's grip in his hair was alternately gentle and then more rough, demanding.

Sherlock's hands wandered too, from Molly's breasts, to John's scrotum as he tried to feel it all, all that they were, all that they presented to him, and he couldn't get enough. He opened his mouth and tried to cover John's moving, pulsing cock with his lips and tongue, kissing and licking as he went.

_I could stay like this for hours, _he thought to himself as he descended to take John's testicles in his mouth.

"Oh, Jesus. Oh, mother of god." John moaned, but kept a steady and gentle pace pulsing into Molly.

_Heaven. The closest thing we have to paradise - if there were such a thing, _Sherlock thought as he licked up the length of John and Molly's joined bodies to Molly's little knot of nerves partially hidden, even under these circumstances, and he licked and sucked her there for a moment as she wordlessly cooed her gratitude.

Sherlock pulled away finally with a moan and glanced around. He spotted and reached for the tube of lubricant on the tea table, and slicked up the fingers of one of his hands. He knelt again at his place of worship and pressed his wet hand between John's legs and let his fingers slowly enter the doctor's tightly muscled body.

"Oh, fuck, _fuck_ – I – I - ." John's voice started to sound a little strained.

"Whenever you need to, John, love, I'll be here for Molly." Sherlock soothed as he reached in to locate the doctor's prostate.

"Oh, _god_, oh fucking _Christ_," John continued to grind the words in his mouth with some tension, while his pace stroking against Molly began to quicken.

Sherlock continued to flick his fingers against John's prostate and though it was an awkward angle for him, he managed simultaneously to take Molly's clit between his lips, and began to suck her and flick his tongue against her. She started moving faster immediately and was soon approaching a plateau. Thus joined, the three found their rhythm and it wasn't long before John and Molly reached their crises with Sherlock officiating between their knees. John shouted out his finish, shaking against Molly's back, and then Sherlock helped Molly to her climax with his tongue and she pulsed against his mouth and tongue as best she could, with John still inside her.

The pair collapsed and lay back in the chair, exhausted, as Sherlock continued to kiss Molly's sex and belly, wordlessly giving his thanks, asking their blessings. John's arms wound around Molly and they panted quietly for a few moments. Sherlock remained kneeling on his pillow between the legs of these, his love gods and placed his hands on the couple's knees again, gently rubbing them. He watched as the engorgement of John's cock decreased until it was soft again. It slipped gently from Molly's body without a sound, and gently relaxed and relaxed, twitching slightly from time to time as it contracted. Sherlock was sorely tempted to take it in his mouth, just for the sake of feeling the exhausted member on his tongue, but he knew how sensitive John would be now, and he refrained. He couldn't resist pressing his face to the inside of John's thigh, kissing, playfully nipping. He was gratified to wrench a lovely little startled moan from his partner. He lifted his face to Molly's sex, now, and lightly kissed her. Then he satisfied himself with making little circles with his hands on the insides of his people's thighs.

Sherlock gazed at the pair of lovers. Even in their limp exhaustion they looked like a piece of sacred Hindu statuary and he found that his physical attitude, on his knees and prayerful, was entirely appropriate. He didn't care to move, no, he would stay here forever. He'd stay for ever and ever to attend to and to receive the blessings of these, his gods, but Molly opened her eyes and smiled at him. _Oh, sweet goddess, yes, please smile on me and bless me with your gaze._

Molly turned her head to kiss John, murmuring to him gently, stroking his cheek with her fingers. Then she rose from her position, recumbent against the doctor's spent body. On his knees before her, Sherlock's face met her sex as she stood before him and he kissed her – once, then again, slowly reaching into her folds with his tongue.

"Stand up," his goddess commanded, and he obeyed. She led him to his chair, where she directed him to sit and again he obeyed. She stood before him, relaxed, exhausted, though she didn't show it, but certainly thoroughly enough fucked. She pondered for a moment what to do with her love slave and smiled. She spread his legs and stood between his knees, as Sherlock had been positioned between her own knees only a few minutes before. The pair smiled wickedly at one another for a moment before Molly leaned down and teased him a bit with her tongue at the head of his prick, but soon crawled up into his lap and impaled herself on him. He steadied her with his hands on her hips and they gazed at one another as they held still, Molly's lower muscles clenching hard. Wordlessly they remembered their time together before John, before Sherlock's return. Wordlessly, their gazes still locked, they thanked the fates and one another that those moments hadn't been the last they would ever share as intimates. Their bond thus acknowledged, Sherlock pulled her against him gently and their lips met.

"Kama and Rati." Sherlock whispered into her ear.

It wasn't the first time Sherlock had mentioned the love gods, and Molly smiled and took the compliment.

"Mmm. And you, our high priest," Molly smiled as she started to move.

"Ah, all right," Sherlock acknowledged, holding her hips to keep her balanced in his lap as she began to ride him harder, quickening her pace. They were breathing hard and moaning to one another when John stepped gently behind Molly, stroking her shoulders, kissing the nape of her neck.

"My little Shiva." Sherlock chuckled as John took Molly's wrists, taking her hands away from Sherlock.

"Change, yes," John nodded, stretching Molly's upper body away from Sherlock, allowing Sherlock to view her belly and her breasts, beautifully pale in the candlelight.

"No, no, let my hands go, John, darling, please, let me go, _ah_ -." Molly protested, even as she began to thrust more heavily, more urgently with her hips.

"But you're so appealing when you're panicked like this, love, when you whimper so prettily."

"Oh, John, please, _please_ -." Molly's body writhed violently between the two men, now, desperately seeking release against Sherlock as John stood behind her, holding her wrists against her. Sherlock held Molly's hips hard and continued thrusting into her, even as he switched his gaze now, to John. Molly seemed off in another world, now, a world that was quickly collapsing around her. She was making animal noises deep in her throat suddenly, and Sherlock could feel her getting very wet as he thrust, and pulsed against her. She came swiftly and loudly, stiffening violently in the arms of the two men, arching against John, quaking, then she finally relaxed. John held her upper body in his arms, petting her, cooing to her for a few moments, even as Sherlock continued to thrust into her, holding her hips firmly, crushing them against his own. Finally, John leaned Molly back toward Sherlock who took her upper body against his, and pounded into her from his sitting position. He came, his face against her neck, her name and John's on his lips.

"This it?" Baker Street, yeah?" The cabbie sounded somewhat irritated.

Sherlock coughed, shaking his head to clear it.

"Yes, yes, thanks – here." He handed over a few notes, and bounded out of the cab to the door, and up the stairs.

Masturbation had never been something Sherlock had to deal with much. Once in a while as – the need has – arisen. _Aghm. _But now, he found, with Molly and John an hour and a half away, himself at home alone, he'd have to go to the bathroom and take care of things. _Or – the bedroom? But - by myself? How completely absurd Or, perhaps - interesting._

)))))

In the bedroom, quite alone, Sherlock took his clothes off, and stood before his empty bed. He looked with satisfaction at the rumpled bedding, and noticed that a corner of the sheet covering the mattress had popped off, the duvet was half on the floor, the pillows were impossible. _ Ought to change the sheets before they come home._ He smiled, and lay on his back in the center of the bed and looked up at the ceiling. _Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?_ he thought. _What do – normal – people do? They – make things up – that's right – they make things up in their heads. _ He took his length in his hand, but found that it was already softer than when he had come into the flat properly, only moments ago. _Replay last night, _he thought. _But, I've already done that. Replay any night. Replay the first night._ He took a couple experimental pulls on himself. _Oh, for god's sake, this is ridiculous._ _I have two perfectly lovely, adorable people coming to me in less than two hours. I'll wait for them. _He didn't want to admit to himself that he was a little embarrassed at the notion of – of – _self love? No, no, no – I'll wait. _He surged out of bed, threw on his dressing gown, and made for the kitchen where there were a number of interesting experiments, at various stages of completion, waiting for him.

**John**

John squeezed the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes as he pressed the pen he held to the prescription pad. His patient, an elderly but perfectly fit septuagenarian awaited his little piece of paper.

Diazapam. But not too much. The patient could become dependant. Unnecessary complication. _He's so much better at everything. Stop it! He's stronger for one thing, he, he, he oh my god. His mouth, the pressure – he knows where to – oh fuck -His mouth is larger, slower, not as hot, perhaps, not as wet, but not an ounce of trepidation, hesitation. _When Sherlock decided to go down on him,John couldn't discern a single millisecond of hesitation in Sherlock as to where to put his lips and tongue. Every woman, every _single_ woman _Oh, except Vanessa_, the single exception_, oh, and Vicki, she was – oh, never mind! Most_ of the women John had been with showed at least an ounce or two of a) revulsion at the prospect of giving oral sex and b) hesitation and/or unwillingness. Molly had been a lovely exception. She showed no revulsion, none, but there was that moment's pause, that moment's hesitation that John might resent, if he weren't always so completely and ridiculously grateful for what he was about to receive. _But Sherlock has none of this, he fucking loves it! Then, his fingers are longer, his tongue is larger and stronger and he can – Oh my god!_

Diazapam! Not too much. _His mouth – and then – no – it must be acknowledged, it must be admitted – at least to myself – his - his cock when he's inside me, so deep, I – and just in general, his strength, being with a man – a man who can -._

_DIAZAPAM! _

"Um, Doctor Watson? Is there – something - ?"

"Aghm, diazepam is addic - aghm. Addictive. It's a very mild drug, really, but getting off it - that is, with_draw_ing from it - once there is dependency is extremely unpleasant, so you want to really have a care to only use it when you absolutely must. A plane trip like this is perfectly acceptable. You really don't want to go down that ro- – ah – you don't want to establish dependency. So, you know – have a care." John ripped the prescription from the pad and handed it over.

"Thanks, doc, very much!" The pensioner on his way to visit his daughter in France, took his jacket and prescription and headed out the door. John put the file on top of his others, and headed down to reception, himself.

"How many more this afternoon, Sharon?" He asked, looking at the clock on the wall.

"Your last one actually cancelled. You're done." The receptionist said.

"Are you serious? It's an hour and a half yet before we're done."

"Oh, we had to cancel several this afternoon and reschedule them because we have to let the workers get into that storage room and do some other decorating and – um – I know I put the memo on your desk."

John looked up and saw Sarah chatting with some men in work clothes, and there was some louder speech than was necessary for the clinic, and some clattering of tools, a metal ladder. Too many people, too much activity indeed for working hours. They had been right to end the clinic early, but it was hard for John to realize his good fortune.

"You're joking. I'm _done?_"

"Yes, Dr. Watson, you're done for the day!" Sharon smiled at him, her hands making the gesture of setting a bird free.

"Thank you! Thank you, so much – I – I – _Thank you!_" John trotted back his office, collected his things, his bag, his jacket and trotted back out to the door, shouting more 'thank yous' over his shoulder at the receptionist.

On the street he found himself running toward home. _Slow down, people will think – What? What will they think? Who the fuck cares what they fucking think? _He slowed as he considered what people would think, then with a laugh, he picked up speed, and started running again. When did he ever run, after all, except when he was at Sherlock Holmes's side? Rarely, but now, it was a welcome treat. It was a relatively short distance back to the flat if one were to drive in a cab, and a fair hike to walk in the morning, which he almost always did. To run would only take 10 minutes or so. _Sherlock runs home to us all the time, and from much greater distances. Why not do the same? He runs to us – why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I run to him? Why should he have all the fun? Molly won't be home. I – I – she'll be along later – I can run to him – if I like. Can't I? _He found he couldn't stop, and found himself giggling a little. The he found himself getting a little hot. Then he found himself with quite an angry erection and then he found himself walking in the door of the flat.

**Sherlock and John**

Sherlock looked up at the door to see a hot, breathless, windswept doctor placing his bag on the desk as usual, then taking a few steps toward the kitchen. John spotted the detective at his chemistry experiments, but strangely attired in his dressing gown, a chemistry apron and goggles. _Ok, here I am, what do I say?_

"John? You're rather – early." Sherlock barely looked up from his experiment.

"Yes, I – I – uh – that is -."

"Is everything all right?" Sherlock's head snapped to attention at John's inability to explain his earliness.

"Um, I – I - ."

Sherlock dropped what he was doing and ripped the goggles off his face and strode out of the kitchen.

"Is Molly all right?"

"Oh, yes, yes – she's fine, sorry – it's – no – nothing wrong with Molly, I just -." John was still catching his breath. Sherlock saw that he'd clearly run at least part of the way from the clinic. _Yes, he'd had office hours today – from the clinic. Ran all the way from the clinic, perhaps? To see me? Oh my god._ Sherlock felt the blood rush from his head.

"John," Sherlock was careful, he didn't want to be predatory or jarring. "Did you - _run_ here?"

"Yes – from the clinic." The two men stood looking at one another, John breathing hard from his run, Sherlock suddenly breathing harder from anticipation, but he was still a little reserved, a little careful. Sherlock's face was a question mark, an eyebrow arched, his head tilted. John finally smiled. "Yes. I ran. I ran to you."

"How lovely, John." Sherlock chucked the goggles away from him, they clattered to the desk's surface. He untied the apron, and wrestled the garment off him as he slowly, gently approached John.

"And what - can I do for you, love?" Sherlock was certain that if John had been obsessed to play one of his domination games with Sherlock, he'd already be wearing the collar and John would already have him in some incredibly compromising and incredibly hot position. This was different. This was entirely different. _Could it be he wants – Oh, god, does he want me to -_ _Careful. Don't frighten him, be encouraging, but let him make the first move. _

John continued looking at his partner, as he stood in the middle of the room, still breathing hard, suddenly looking a little unsure.

"I want – I wanted - ." John was a little flustered – _Why does he want me to explain it to him? Isn't it obvious what I want? Didn't I just say I ran here to him? _

"Yes?" Sherlock noticed John's footing get a little unsteady. "It's ok, just tell me, John." Sherlock slowly closed the distance between them, now, taking in the faint smell of sweat off John's body, the movement of his still heaving chest, the doubt in his deep eyes. He spoke again, gently, slowly.

"It's all right to want things. It's – all right to ask - for things – isn't it?" Sherlock tried to be helpful.

"Yes, of course," John madly thought Sherlock was going to ask for something he wanted. _No, no, no, he means me – Why? I – Oh, just say it!_

"I – I want you – to – to - ."

Sherlock leaned his ear close to John's mouth, it was intoxicating, John's lingering shyness, his hesitation. _I wish it could never end._

"Yes, love?" Sherlock whispered.

"I want you to – take me – I want you - inside me – again. I can't stop thinking of it – you're – you're so – I want you to - ." John's mouth was suddenly full of Sherlock's tongue, and John's hands were inside Sherlock's robe, and everything was all right.

"I – I was fairly certain, but I didn't want to - presume." Sherlock said, as he pulled John's jumper over his head.

"Yes, yes, I see – I – I was a little confused. Why – why are you naked in the middle of the day?" John was sinking to his knees, trailing kisses along the white firm flesh of his lover's body as he untied the belt of the garment, and pushed the silk out of the way.

"I'll tell you later – I – I thought I – _ah!_." Sherlock's thought process was mightily interrupted when John's mouth sucked in his cock, twirling his tongue around the head, kissing, sucking, and laving at it, taking his time. Sherlock stood quietly for some moments, his hands gently resting on John's head.

"You're so good at that – you – you – never hesitate." Sherlock's hips pulsed carefully against John's lips and tongue. John smiled to himself to have received the very compliment that he would have given Sherlock. _But we mustn't confess our preferences,_ he thought. _I'll just keep it to myself. _

"Come on," Sherlock gently pulled away from John, "Let's go in the bedroom, more comfortable."

"Well, I'm not – you know – I didn't have a chance to - ."

"What's a little bodily material between friends, John?"

John's skin turned pink and he smiled.

Together they removed the rest of John's clothes and when he was naked, the two men stood and held one another some moments more kissing, petting, before getting into bed. Sherlock still had his silk dressing gown on, and John rather liked it, Sherlock could tell, so he left it on.

"Missionary?" Sherlock cooed in his partner's ear.

"Hmm, what?"

"Ride me? – or?"

"Oh, - I - ." John reddened again.

"Well. No need to decide right away. We'll begin in the usual manner, shall we?" Sherlock gently pressed John toward the bed.

"Yes, yes, - that's - a good idea. Ahaha." John sat down, and pushed into the middle of the bed, while Sherlock picked up the tube of lubricant, and followed him. He knelt between the doctor's legs, still in his flowing blue gown, open now, throwing his impossibly pale skin into deep contrast against it. John tried to control his breathing at the sight of his friend, so close, so naked, so hard. Sherlock took John's knees in his hands, pressing them wider apart, pushing them down against John's body, the doctor's feet bobbing in the air. Sherlock looked down at John, stroking his thighs, admiring his very beautiful erection. He smiled.

"Not too smug, please, love? Just - ?" John's face reddened even more and turned his head. Sherlock bit his lower lip.

"Hmm, sorry, but I – I am – very pleased – to be able to look at you like this. If you don't mind – too much. Oh, what a lovely color you turn for me, yes, very lovely. Almost half way down your chest." Sherlock reached for the tube he'd left on the bed next to John and quickly slicked up his fingers. He leaned down and took John's cock in his mouth at the same time he pressed his fingers deep into the heat of John's body.

"Oh, fucking shit – Jesus Christ, love, oh, god," John immediately dug his fingers into Sherlock's curls, pulling carefully, then not so carefully, as Sherlock added another finger, then a third. Sherlock took his time as he got John ready.

"All right?" Sherlock asked, gently exploring, opening John as he leaned down to kiss and suck his cock from time to time.

"Fuck, yes, yes, it's – it's lovely. Oh, god, please, please -."

"Oh, love. Begging already? What a pretty compliment. Just another few moments, all right? Almost there. Will you – look at me, love?"

John opened his eyes and the pair locked gazes as Sherlock continued to open John, gently, gently twisting, pressing in, down, against. John's back arched into the contact of Sherlock's hand and he was already mewing and cooing. _Yes, his fingers, his fingers are incredible, Molly was right, his hands inside me, his mouth on my cock, he's a god. _

"I think that's enough," Sherlock's voice was a little husky as his fingers left John's body slowly, gently. He picked up the condom from the sheet.

"You don't – you don't have to -."

"What?"

"We've – all been tested, we've all - , just please, please don't make me wait - ."

"Are you sure?"

"I – want to feel you – will you – please?"

"John," Sherlock spread John's knees farther apart.

"Oh, god, love, don't take long – please, please - ." John's face was anticipation and agony and Sherlock breathed a sigh of deep devotion.

"Yes, now.." Still kneeling, Sherlock pulled John's hips to his own then gently pressed the tip of his cock against John's slick wet opening. Sherlock watched the head of his shaft disappear into John and felt the muscles clamp down hard around him.

"Ah, John, lovely, lovely - ." Sherlock ran his palms along John's hips, his flanks. "You're doing so well, love. Relax, now, for me, hmm? Deep breath?" Sherlock tried to be soothing, but his voice was ragged and he was having trouble making his words come smoothly.

"'k," said John, breathing deeply. Sherlock felt John's muscles relax suddenly, and he pulled John's body closer to him, slowly sinking his cock deeply into him as the doctor vocalized in mixed tones of pleasure and doubt.

"John, _John_." Sherlock withdrew slightly to lean up and cover John with his body, devouring his face with kisses and little love words. "Is this what – what you wanted, love?" Sherlock was buried deep, and John was so tight, it quite took his breath away. John's body, unused to such contact quaked quietly in Sherlock's arms, then the doctor put his arms around his friend's neck. As the two men continued to look at one another, their gazes locked, their bodies trembling together as the moments passed.

"Yes, yes, it's good, so good."

"I didn't know – you wanted me this way – I thought you were – humouring me – a little, you know, when we first -."

"No, no. I mean yes, yes, I wanted you – like this, oh, god yes." John pressed his body against Sherlock's in a gentle thrust, and breathing fast and hot, he lapped his tongue out at Sherlock's mouth. "Come on. It's ok, you can move," he encouraged Sherlock, and the detective complied.

"Oh, oh, god, love." John moaned as Sherlock started to thrust gently against him. He arched his back into the movement, arched against Sherlock in such a lovely gesture of surrender, Sherlock could hardly breathe.

"John," Sherlock whispered and repeated, unable to stop himself as he picked up his pace.

John was suddenly moving his hips in a consistent circle, and it surprised Sherlock.

"That's – that's lovely what you're – mmph, _John_." Sherlock slowed somewhat, pulling back, "You'll push me over the edge, Doctor."

"Come back here, you bastard," John pulled Sherlock back against him, thrusting against him, thrusting and swivelling his hips as the two shared a kiss, deep, sloppy, lingering, fast and then slow and then fast and urgent again.

"Oh, god, you're, you're - ." John tried to make sense of what he wanted to say.

"Hmmhmm, what love?" Sherlock knew he was brushing against his friend's sweet spot, now, trying to up the ante.

"You're hitting me just -oh, yeah, oh god, love, fuck, _fuck_ - ."

"Hmmhmm, that's all right, any time you want. Go ahead, love, I can't wait, I love to watch you come. Come on me, come all over me, sweetheart." Sherlock cooed, kissing his friend's ear, biting him a little.

"Yeah, ok, yeah, I'm close, you – you – fuck, shit, Sherlock, love, Sher - ."

Sherlock looked down at John as he moved against him, smiling, smug, in love, as John's predictable litany of swear words spewed out of his mouth. The doctor usually called Molly's name, even when she was absent, but not today. No, Sherlock smiled not today as he finally came, spilling himself across his and Sherlock's bodies. John shook and rode out his orgasm holding Sherlock around the neck, pulling him closer to him, then whispered in his ear.

"Fuck me hard, now, hmm?" John was still ragged, but tried to challenge Sherlock. "Go ahead, see if you can make me cry or something." John even laughed a little, biting his lover's ear as Sherlock's assault began, slamming into John, filling him and rocking him to the core. Sherlock's barrage was so physical and forceful that at length all John could do was hang on for dear life, his arms around Sherlock's neck.

"Close." Sherlock felt his body begin to shake, his muscles start to give way as he continued pumping against John, still kissing him, licking at him.

"Yeah, baby, let me feel it, let me feel it inside me," John spoke the words into his lover's ear, hot and wet, and then bit his shoulder as Sherlock came into him rocking against him, holding John more tightly to him. John gripped Sherlock hard, rubbing his face against his shoulder as the taller man collapsed against him, covering him with his body, the sticky mess of John's come a slippery glue between them.

As he felt Sherlock's body sink down against him John could feel every bit of tension leave his body. _Just like he does with Molly. Hmm, adorable, _thought John, holding his friend, relishing his full weight bearing down on him. John purred. Sherlock felt the humming against him and came back to himself enough to kiss his friend, then slip off him to the side.

"Hmmhmm, I think I came when you called me 'baby.'" Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands.

"Oh, you like that? I'll have to remember."

"Yes, hmmhmm, do." said Sherlock. He took John's face in one of his hands, his thumb stroking his chin. "You ran – to me."

"Yeah. Been thinking about you all day. _Baby_." John smiled as Sherlock pressed close to him, pulling their bodies tightly together, burying his face in the doctor's neck.

The pair dozed comfortably for the better part of an hour, petting, murmuring to one another. Then they rose, showered and dressed, and together they changed the sheets before Molly's arrival home.

)))))))

_There you go._

_I have a couple more like this, some more involved than others._

_In the weeks to come._

_If you haven't yet, check out my "__**John's Interludes for Three**__" for more like this!_

_Darling Gentle Reader: I adore you – do you know it?_

_I don't care how or why you've arrived at these pages, I still adore you. I do._

_Kisses. Tender loving thoughts._

_Review me? I'd love it. _

_You don't have to be 'review-y.' You can just say 'hi!' _

_But if you don't: I love you all the same._

_And: do you know what? _

_Even if you HATE what I'm doing – I. Still. Love. You._

_Kiss. Kiss. Kiss._

_Hug._


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